


When I Say Shotgun You Say Wedding

by guilty_pleasures_abound



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Age Difference, Banter, Creampie, F/M, Fluff, Las Vegas Wedding, Light Angst, Love, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Shotgun Wedding, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilty_pleasures_abound/pseuds/guilty_pleasures_abound
Summary: You were half wondering if the last 48 hours were even real. Itfeltreal, but it had been so much of a whirlwind you couldn’t quite be sure. The mere fact that you were now standing in front of an Elvis impersonator in Vegas, dressed in a thrift store white dress waiting to speak your vows was enough to make you seriously wonder if it was all a dream.





	When I Say Shotgun You Say Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> God don't read this, it's just absolute mush.
> 
> I waffled about what age I wanted to make Stan in this fic, but listen; if Jeff Goldblum can become a dad for the first time at 62, so can Stan Pines.

Honestly, it was all just so ridiculous. You couldn’t stop giggling, you couldn’t stop looking up at the ceiling and trying to get your shit together, but you just _couldn’t_ , not with Stan being just as giggly beside you.

You were half wondering if the last 48 hours were even real. It _felt_ real, but it had been so much of a whirlwind you couldn’t quite be sure. The mere fact that you were now standing in front of an Elvis impersonator in Vegas, dressed in a thrift store white dress waiting to speak your vows was enough to make you seriously wonder if it was all a dream.

The reason you were even there still didn’t feel quite real either. Realizing two days ago that it had been a _little too long_ since your last period had damn near paralyzed you with uncertainty. Seeing those two pink lines appear on a little plastic test even more so.

You had no clue how to tell him, and even more unknown was how he would react when you did. As it turned out, you didn’t need to, because apparently being in the bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test for a half hour was a bit suspicious.

“Hey, you okay?” his rough voice asked, head peeking around the edge of the door; damn the broken lock.

“I… uh…” you fumbled. You weren’t dying, but were you actually _okay?_ Debatable.

He froze, staring at the test still in your hand, and for a few agonizing seconds neither one of you spoke.

“That fucking thing’s positive, isn’t it?” he finally croaked, pushing the door the rest of the way open and stepping through it. All you could do was nod. Stan let out a loud puff of air, rubbing a hand over his forehead then back through his hair, leaning his hip against the bathroom sink. “What do you wanna do?”

His voice seemed to be going for neutral, and you weren’t sure how you felt about that. Was it better, or worse, not knowing what answer he was hoping for?

You weren’t sure yourself, looking back down at the test in your hand. Those two pink lines stared right back at you, unchanged in the last half hour.

There were a host of reasons why it was completely ludicrous, just the very idea of having a baby with this man. The fact that he was sixty, for one. The fact that the two of you were supposed to set off on the ocean with Ford for another trip around the world in a month was another. The fact that neither of you planned this, neither of you had even discussed what your wanted from your relationship long-term, neither of you were in any way ready for this. The fact that he was a former alcoholic with a criminal record a mile long and forty years of living under false identities.

But looking up at him now, arms crossed and chewing nervously on his bottom lip, all you could see in your mind’s eye was how he was with his niece and nephew; how fiercely protective, how jovial, how supportive. You couldn’t help but imagine him holding a tiny baby to his shoulder, one of his massive hands laying warmly across its entire back comfortingly and his gruff voice singing them some silly song.

“I want this,” spilled out of your mouth, heart racing in terror, but the next thing you knew you were being half-crushed by a fierce embrace.

“Thank fuck,” he rasped beside your ear. “Christ, kid, I’ve never been more scared to be told ‘no’ in my whole damn life.”

“You mean that?” You couldn’t believe it; your fingers trembling as you wrapped your arms around him, gripping his shirt in tight fistfuls.

“I mean it,” he whispered earnestly, and it almost sounded like there were tears in his voice. “Do you mean it?”

“I mean it,” you reaffirmed, every passing second settling the idea more firmly into your head, turning your anxious nerves to fluttering excitement. Then a shocked laugh, your arms squeezing around him even more tightly. “Oh my god… we just agreed to have a baby together, didn’t we?”

He laughed happily, petting his hand lovingly over the back of your head. “I think we did.” He pulled back a little, looking at your face with the sweetest grin you had ever seen. “Wanna get married while we’re at it?”

_“What?”_

You gaped at him, trying to find any trace of that trademark _gotcha!_ mischief in his eyes, but all you could see was earnestness.

“Married. You and me. I should make an honest woman outta ya, right?” His smile got a little wider, but still you could find no false intent, only gentle teasing in the “honest woman” remark. “Come on, sugar, waddya say? Marry me.”

Oh what the hell. You were already having his child, why shouldn’t you get married?

“Okay,” you squeaked.

Which brought you to Vegas, and Elvis, and speaking your vows in a thrift store white dress. You promised that all you planned to steal was his heart, not his car, giving him a wink and a cheeky grin that made him laugh. You promised to be the guard at his back and the lover in his arms, his family no matter what.

He promised to care for and protect you, to make you laugh every day, and to never let you go a moment without feeling loved. He promised that there would never be a husband as loyal, and never a father as loving. Your family, no matter what.

He swept you into his arms the moment you were pronounced husband and wife, kissing you with such enthusiasm you couldn’t stop giggling, until Elvis laughed and told him to let you up for air.

“Can I just say, Mrs Pines,” he panted later; flat on his back under you, your dress hiked up to your waist and his suit mostly still on, but in definite disarray, “that you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen?”

You smiled at him, the flatterer, getting a hand between you to guide him inside you, the sink of that delicious thick length into your body making you both moan. “Still gonna say that when I look like I swallowed a beach ball?”

He gave a hearty laugh, squeezing your sides with his wide hands, his gaze on you soft and amused. “Why shouldn’t I? That’s what I look like and you don’t seem to mind!”

He thumped an open palm against his own abdomen with another laugh. You chortled, setting your hands on the aforementioned abdomen with a smile as you leaned over him, rising up a little before sinking back down.

“I love it,” you reminded him, beginning a slow, easy rhythm that dripped pleasure like molasses through your pelvis.

“Then why do you think I won’t?” His hand shifted from your side to your belly, pressing warmly with a gently rub of his thumb. “It’s our kid in there, honey. You ain’t gonna be able to shake me once they get big enough for me to feel.”

There were tears pricking your eyes, overwhelmed by how absolutely enamoured you were with this man, how blessed you felt by his excitement; not everyone had a partner that met the news of an unplanned baby entering their lives with unbridled joy.

“I love you,” you whispered, your words met by another one of his broad smiles.

“Love ya too, sweetheart.”

“God, you’re such a sap, shut up,” you insisted a moment later with a watery laugh, blinking your tears away with a shake of your head. “You’re breaking my concentration, I’m trying to have honeymoon sex here.”

He laughed again, his grin turning mischievous. “Get to it, then.”

A light smack to your ass made you gasp, jolting your hips back into motion.

“Ruffian,” you teased him, digging your fingers into his belly a little bit, satisfied by his little squirm and grunt.

“Oh yeah, I’m a real bad guy,” he acknowledged, lifting his hand from your abdomen to lick his thumb, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Just terrible.”

“The worst.” You gasped as he slipped his hand between your legs, spit-wet thumb rubbing amazingly over your clit. “I married a real beast.”

“And now you’re stuck with him.”

“Guess I am.”

“It’s a real sob story, eh?”

“The sobbiest.”

Stan seemed to run out of breath for a witty comeback, his eyes glued to your body, gaze flicking from the subtle bounce of your tits under the fabric of your dress to his own hand working your clit. You could see sweat starting to form on his forehead and neck, his breath panting out of his mouth in little huffs.

“You gonna last, old man?” you couldn’t help but tease with a cocky grin, squeezing your muscles around him with a hard grind down.

“Shut up,” he growled, digging his fingertips into your asscheek with a hard grip that made you squirm. “I ain’t no lightweight and you know it.”

“Mmm… I dunno.”

His eyes narrowed, looking up at you with a challenging glare as a cheeky grin spread over your lips.

“You little…” He sat up with a huff, his strong arms wrapping tight around you before rolling you off to the side, following with a determined grunt. “I’ll show you lightweight.”

You bit your lip, petting your hands over his chest and looking up at him as he sat back on his heels, tugging his undone bowtie from around his neck. You didn’t resist when he grabbed your wrists, looping the cloth around them determinately and actually taking the time to tie a proper bow.

“Nerd,” you mumbled, squeaking when he pinched your thigh in retaliation.

“Brat,” he countered, leaning forward to stretch your arms above your head, holding them down against the mattress. “Why on earth did I sign up for a lifetime of this?”

“Cause you’re a grade A sucker.” You stretched your head up so you could nibbled his neck, the sound of his coarse laugh vibrating against your lips. “And so you can have a lifetime golden pass to your favorite pussy.”

“God, that’s true,” he murmured cheekily, which also seemed to remind him that he had been inside you a couple minutes ago, and there was no reason for him not to be now. “Better enjoy it while I can, before the kid stretches it all out.”

“Stanley Pines, that is _not_ —” Your words faltered a little as he realigned himself, pushing back inside with a soft moan. “—how vaginas work!”

“Sure it is.” He was smirking, the cheeky bastard, returning to the easy, slow rhythm you had started on top of him. “Like when the neck of a t-shirt gets all worn out.”

“I’m going to smack you.” You shook your head, squeezing your thighs on either side of his hips since your hands were currently unavailable. “And make you read every pregnancy book I can find.”

He just laughed, his hand around your wrists giving a little squeeze and the other stroking a slow path up your side. “You’ll have to catch me first. Which will be pretty easy to avoid when you get to the waddling stage.”

 _“You are such a jerk!”_ You squirmed under him, trying to wiggle your hands out of his grasp so you could give him a good wallop, without much success.

“If it’s any consolation,” he laughed, still holding tight to your hands as he ducked his head down to your neck, pressing a long, sweet kiss there. “I think it will make you look like a very cute duck.”

“I swear to god, if you make some kind of Ducktective joke at me I’m divorcing you.”

He worked his lips up your neck to your mouth, chortling all the while. “I make no promises.”

He was so lucky you loved him. “For fuck’s sake, Pines, just shut up and make me come.”

“Jeez, the demands start already?”

“How’s this for a demand? If you don’t fuck me stupid like a dog in heat it will be a long damn time before you get another blowjob from me.”

He unexpectedly shuddered, hips hitching in and breath catching as he pulled back enough to see your face, looking a little dazed himself. “That’s… a hell of a good argument, kid.”

“Damn right it is. So you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

His eyes sort of glazed over, his throat audibly swallowing, before he gave a little nod. “I think I can manage that.”

He pulled out, and you almost complained until he manhandled you onto your front, pushing your dress up a bit higher and hooking his hands under your hips.

“ _‘Fuck you like I mean it,’_ ” you heard him grumble, pulling your hips up a little before you felt him at your entrance. “I’ll show you _‘like I mean it.’_ ”

You didn’t bother to suppress your amused smile, pressing your face down on the sheets until he pushed in, digging in deep with a little grunt.

This was his favorite; you knew he loved how animalistic it felt, how your ass felt against his pelvis, how he could push his hands under you, cup your breasts or your cunt or both, use his fingers to get you off while he bit bruises into the back of your neck. You loved how it angled him inside you, rubbing that thick length against the front of your pussy until your thighs trembled, until his fingers on your clit and his dick hitting your g-spot made you fall apart in a messy rush.

And goddamn if he hadn’t taken your threat to heart; short, deep thrusts of his hips making you clench and groan, bound hands holding tight to the pillow above your head.

“Feel like I mean it?” he panted, leaning forward to brace his hand on the bed beside your ribs, his other hand hooking under you, finding your clit with his fingers and starting a maddening rub. “This good enough to count as _‘fucking you stupid’_?”

Damn, you’d really riled him up with that. You tucked that bit of information away for later, along with all the ways you could play with it.

“Yeah,” you gasped, squirming and tensing with every move of his hips and hand. “Yeah, god, don’t stop.”

Considering the hard huff to his breathing, you doubted he had any plans to. Not that your own was any better, the hot pants and gasps of air from your mouth starting to make the sheet under your face feel humid.

Then the creep of that tingling pleasure started to spread through your cunt, your thighs trembling, toes curling, on the cusp of a climax that was sure to leave you boneless and breathless on the bed.

“That’s it,” Stan’s gruff voice encouraged against your shoulder, head hanging down to start pressing messy kisses there with an encouraging moan. “That’s it, baby.”

You could feel your muscles trembling and spasming around him, trying to hold on to that pleasurable fill, until suddenly you were there—falling apart with a soft cry and a gasp that took your breath.

It made Stan groan, riding out your pleasure until you went limp under him; all the permission he needed to finally be greedy, holding tight to your hip as his rhythm picked up pace, the light slap sound of his hips against your ass strangely satisfying.

“Fuck,” he rasped, a tight shove and grind of his hips signaling his end, unapologetically coming inside you with a strangled sound.

He rolled off to the side a moment later, huffing and panting noisily as you floated dreamily in the afterglow.

“Come ‘ere, you.”

His fingers on your back roused you from your half-doze, the buzz of the zipper on your dress preceding the coolness of fresh air meeting your heated skin. You rolled onto your back once he had tugged it all the way down, offering him your hands to undo the tie so you could slide the dress off.

His face was ruddy, perspiration dotting his forehead and neck, and there was a good chance he had sweated through his shirt. It made you smile for some reason, your amused expression apparently catching his eye as he unwound his bow tie from your wrists.

“What?” he asked as you slid your dress down your arms.

“Nothin’,” you shrugged, leaving the fabric pooled at your waist as you wiggled your hands behind you to unclasp your bra. “Can’t a girl smile on her wedding night?”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at you, sitting up to peel his suit jacket down his arms, then his shirt. He had, in fact, sweated through it; damp patches clear across the shoulders.

“Don’t regret it yet, then, huh?” he said, continuing to disrobe as you half-heartedly wiggled out of your dress while trying to avoid sitting up.

“Hey,” you answered, nudging him with your knee authoritatively until he looked back at you. “Not a chance, Pines. You don’t get to shake me that easy.”

That coaxed a soft little smile from him, his hand reaching back to wrap around the inside of your thigh warmly. “Thanks, kid.”

“Don’t mention it. Wanna be a good hubby and get me a washcloth?”

He chortled, squeezing his hand a little before standing up, taking it as an opportunity to also rid himself of his pants and boxers. “Shouldn’t there be evidence of us… ‘consummating the marriage’?” He did air quotes. “That was a thing people did, wasn’t it?”

“Fucking—” you sighed, rubbing your hands over your face. “I’m not sleeping in a wet spot because you wanna steal cum-stained sheets from a hotel as a trophy, you nutcase.”

He laughed, loud and far too amused for his own good. “Who says I ain’t gonna steal the sheets anyway?”

“Jesus, you’re going to be the worst influence on our kid. Thank god the rest of your family has more of a moral compass.”

“Psh.” He waved a hand dismissively. “At least my criminal record is confined to just one dimension. Can’t say the same for Ford.”

You absolutely hated that he had a point. “Are you gonna get me a washcloth or not?”

He grinned at you, knowing full well you were changing the subject on purpose. He also didn’t answer, simply disappearing into the bathroom, and a moment later you heard the shower start up.

“Absolute jerk,” you sighed at the ceiling, then forced yourself to sit up and follow him.

He was running his hands through his hair under the spray of the showerhead by the time you got in, thoroughly wetting it and giving you a coy little smirk.

“Why’d I marry you, again?” you asked, nudging him back so you could get some water for yourself, and definitely ignoring the fact that he looked pretty sexy with wet hair.

“No idea,” he grunted, reaching for the little bottle of hotel shampoo. “Hormones affecting your judgement?”

“Hm, probably.”

You held out your hand for a squirt of the shampoo, and thankfully Stan decided to be generous enough to squeeze a healthy dollop into your palm.

The rest of your joint shower passed in comfortable silence, the post-sex sleepiness paired with the hot water not really putting either of you into a talkative mood, preferring instead to simply get clean between random kisses and cuddles under the spray.

It wasn’t until you were back in bed, turning off the lights and laying on thankfully _not_ wet sheets, that Stan spoke. “I’m gonna try to make you happy, you know.”

His voice was unexpectedly sombre against the back of your head, his body spooned up behind you with his arm around your waist. It gave you pause, angling your head back a little toward him.

“You already do, Stan.”’

Your statement was met with a contemplative hum, then silence. The only problem was that it wasn’t the same comfortable silence you had shared during the shower; there was a bit of tension there, a bit of anxiety.

“What, having second thoughts already?” you asked, half in jest and half in seriousness.

Stan’s silence and long sigh felt like a lead weight dropping into your stomach, pushing you to wiggle onto your back, looking at the vague outline of his face in the darkness.

 _“Are_ you having second thoughts?”

“No, no,” he murmured. “I just… keep thinking that you will. That you’ll wake up tomorrow realizing you only married me ‘cause I knocked you up but you’d rather… not do that. Go through with it, I mean. You can still change your mind, you know, I’ll… I’ll understand if you don’t actually want to be saddled to an old man like me.”

Something you had learned about Stan was that for all his bluster, all his bravado, deep down he was still so afraid that he wasn’t good enough for anyone. Wasn’t good for anything, didn’t deserve the good things he had fought for.

“And nobody would blame you, it’s not like I’m some trophy—”

“Stanley Carlton Pines, you stop it right there.” You laced your voice with as much authority as you could muster to make up for the fact that he couldn’t see the seriousness on your face. “I did _not_ marry you only because of the baby, that’s a terrible thing to say. And I sure as hell hope that’s not the only reason you married me.”

“Of course not,” he interjected, “the kid was just… a nudge to actually ask.”

“Well there you go, then.”

“Yeah but what if I’m not any good at this?” There was a hard edge of anxiety in his voice, his arm around you tightening. “What if I’m just as bad as my old man and our kid hates me and—”

“There is absolutely, positively, no way on planet earth that you will end up like your dad, Stan, come on.”

“I could still suck at it.”

“Yeah me too, but I still wanna try, don’t you?”

Silence, then his forehead pressed against yours and another long sigh. “So much, kid. You don’t even know.”

There was nothing in the universe that mattered more to him than family. You knew that, had witnessed his devotion first hand, had heard of all the love and sacrifice he had given to protect the people he valued most. It made you wonder how long he had wished for children of his own, if he thought he had missed his chance entirely.

“Then that’s what we focus on. And we have faith that when things get overwhelming we have great people back home who love us and will want to help us out.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you took the liberty of moving his hand from your side to your abdomen, folding both of your hands over his. “Come on, old man, don’t throw in the towel before the fight has even started.”

You knew he’d at least get a kick out of the boxing metaphor, and sure enough he huffed a soft laugh. “Heh. Yeah. They’re all gonna flip their lids when we tell them, you know that, right?”

“Without question. Mabel’s never going to forgive us for not letting her plan a wedding.”

“Sweet Moses, can you imagine? You might have to let her plan a baby shower just so she stays on speaking terms with us.”

“Oh man, I hadn’t even thought of that. Think if I tell her edible glitter is bad for the baby she won’t throw it on everything?”

“No, she just won’t put it on the food for you. The rest of us will still have to suffer.”

That made you snort, angling your head a little to rub your nose against his. “Sucks to be you.”

“Oh shut up.”

A round of soft laughter from you both eased the tension from a few moments before, leaving the room relaxed and content once more.

“Wonder if we’ll end up with twins, like me and Ford,” he suddenly added, giving a thoughtful pet of his hand over your belly.

“Don’t you jinx me like that!”

“Hey!” He sounded a little hurt. “You love Ford, don’t pretend you don’t.”

“Of course I love Ford. I love Dipper and Mabel too, but that still doesn’t mean the world is ready for a matching set of Stanley Pines’ offspring.”

He guffawed loudly at that, digging his fingers into you a little bit in rough tickle that made you squirm with a squeak.

“Cheeky minx,” he murmured gruffly. “What about your half of the DNA?”

“Will hopefully be the only thing standing between the world and the next criminal mastermind.”

“Pft,” he snorted. “You say ‘criminal mastermind’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“Lord give me strength.”

He laughed again with another gentle pet over your abdomen, and you smiled in spite of yourself.

When you woke up to go about your business three days ago, you never could have imagined that in the blink of an eye you’d be married, and lovingly talking and teasing each other about your future kid. Life was strange, more so life around Stan, and you were so damn excited for the rest of it.

“Love you, sweetheart,” he murmured a few minutes later, clearly on the verge of dozing off.

“Love you too, honey.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, but you can't tell me that Stanley "everything I've done, I've done for this family" Pines wouldn't be happy to be a dad. I wouldn't believe you for a second. I also don't know when I became this sappy.
> 
> Check out my grunkle shrine on [tumblr](https://guilty-pleasures-abound.tumblr.com).


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